


Untitled

by Molly



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-04
Updated: 2011-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is sick; Lance takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Follows [this](http://flambeau.livejournal.com/10029.html) and then [this](http://flambeau.livejournal.com/10445.html), by torch, who wrote them for me when I wasn't feeling well, and then demanded that I restore balance to the slash in the band. :)

It wasn't a few days. It wasn't even a week. As it turned out, Chris got sick like he did everything else, in a kind of frenzied and insane way, with more intensity and determination than anybody else.

He had weird symptoms, too, because Chris Kirkpatrick couldn't just sniffle and cough and run a fever like a normal guy. Too mundane. He had to get bizarre olfactory hallucinations and start craving cotton candy. He had to pass out when he sneezed, and wake up in the night yelling the scores for basketball playoffs from three years ago that Lance hadn't cared about then and cared even less about now.

He kept sleeping in Chris's room through all of it, partly because JC and Justin were having a whole lot of sex over in his own room and partly because Joey refused even to walk past Chris's door without a hazmat suit.

Lance could have slept in Joey's room, there was an extra bed there, but there was also the looming danger that left alone, Chris might drown in his own mucus. Plus, the nights were getting colder and Chris's fever turned him into something very like a man-sized, clingy hot water bottle. It wasn't all bad.

The night before the day Chris turned the corner, Lance was jerked out of a sound slumber by a sound he didn't recognize at first. Chris was curled up on the far side of the bed, a tiny ball of freezing biohazard. The blankets were bunched between them, doing nobody any good, and the fever had broken. There was a sheen of sweat on Chris's forehead that caught the light coming in from the window, and there were bright tracks across Chris's cheekbones, under his eyes.

Lance unbunched the blankets and draped them over Chris's body. "Hey," he said, patting Chris's shoulder tentatively. "Chris? Are you, um. Are you crying?"

"I want the green one," Chris said mournfully, with a catch in his voice. His eyes never opened.

It wasn't fair. Chris was wrapped around his pillow like a vise, dark hair a rumpled shadow on the white case, drooling. Lance was pretty sure he'd never seen anything cuter in his entire life. He sighed, wrapped his arms around Chris and pulled the blanket up tight over both of them. "Shhhhhh," he whispered into Chris's ear. "I'll get you the green one. Just sleep."

"Han shot first, damn it!"

Lance pressed a grin into Chris's shoulder and held him close.

~ ~ ~

Three days later, back in their room after an interview with a woman whose English sounded more German than her German did, Chris bounced into the center of the bed and smiled at him out of tired, blood-shot eyes.

"So, I'm well now," Chris said brightly. He made a sound exactly like a guy trying to cover up a cough, and then sneezed. "Let's have some sex."

Lance looked up from his homework and pretended not to get it. "What?"

"Oh, no, don't think you're getting out of it that easy. You said if I got well I could deflower you. Well, I'm well. Come on over here, and take off that stupid shirt."

"I like this shirt." Frowning, Lance fingered the hem. It was just a plain white t-shirt. "And never say 'deflower' again. It just sounds..." He waved his hand randomly.

"Fine." Chris bounced a few more times, experimentally. "Take off that sex-ay shirt and get your ass over here!"

"Look, Chris. When I said you could ravish me, I didn't really mean it. I was just saying that so you'd shut up and let me sleep."

"You were lying?" Chris stopped bouncing and blinked rapidly. "You were lying?"

Lance nodded. "Pretty much."

"That's. You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm your bandmate, is why not! We're family! We're brothers!"

"Okay, and right now I'm adding 'incest' to my list of reasons why not to have sex with you."

"I didn't mean --" Chris stopped. He frowned. "Wait, you have a list?"

"You wanna see it?"

"Yes!" Chris said, glaring. "No. Wait, yes." Lance just looked at him for a few seconds and Chris sighed. "No."

Lance shrugged and looked back at his homework. "Besides, I thought we were going to wait until you were your sexy self again."

"Right, that's why -- hey!" Chris looked down at himself carefully. "What!?"

"Check back with me in a week," Lance said. He grinned at a question about the Cold War and hoped Chris couldn't see it.

"Are you lying again?" Chris demanded suspiciously.

Lance pulled the book up close to his face. "Check back with me in a week and see."

~ ~ ~

A week later, the red was gone from Chris's eyes and an air of determination hung over him like a dark, angry cloud. Lance watched from his desk as Chris stalked into their room, closed the door carefully, and locked it.

Lance raised his eyebrows and waited.

"It's been a week," Chris said softly. "I'm going to assume you weren't lying, and jump you now."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Good. Very good, if you know what I mean, and I think you do." Chris stalked a little closer.

"You still look a little rough." He didn't, really. He kind of looked very good. Very very good, but Lance didn't have to say that out loud. He put down his pencil and smiled warmly. "Let me look at your eyes."

Chris stopped stalking. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm never getting laid."

Lance grinned. "You know, you're kind of a whiner. I'm starting to think I might be too old for you."

"You know what? I'm just gonna go try to get into Joey's pants. It'll be less of a chall--mphghmph!"

"Leave," Lance said softly, licking carefully at Chris's tongue, "Joey," and biting less carefully at Chris's lips, "alone."

Chris, pressed tight between Lance and the wall, whimpered, "Okay" weakly and let his eyes drift shut.

"Thank you." Lance smiled, and ran his hand under the front of Chris's shirt. Chris tasted like cherry cough drops, and Lance liked it. "Kiss me back."

"Okay," Chris said, and leaned in. "Wait." He panted a little, which Lance found incredibly distracting. Thoughts slid and ran together visibly on Chris's face. "Why should I leave Joey alone? Do you have a thing for Joey? Do you want Joey more than you want me?"

"I don't have a thing for Joey. I just want to keep getting free ice cream more than I want Joey to kick your ass."

"Maybe next he can sleep with a masseuse."

Lance kissed Chris again, to see if it would make him stop talking. It didn't; it just made him harder to understand. Lance didn't care; the sound of it was good, quiet and needy, sweet, and Chris's hands were on the back of his head, holding their mouths together. Chris kissed like he was auditioning for the role of The Best Lay of Your Life, and Lance started to worry about being ruined for all other men.

And then Chris was still kissing him but his hands were pushing at his shirt, under his shirt, and they broke just long enough to get rid of it and get rid of Chris's too and Lance had a warm, hard chest pressed against his own. Chris wasn't trying to talk anymore but he was making...sounds. Dear God.

Lance stopped worrying and started trying to absorb Chris through his skin.

Chris pulled back to breathe and hit his head against the wall. Lance tried to breathe, too, but it wasn't as much fun as watching Chris do it. He rubbed gently at the back of Chris's head and leaned in to lick just under Chris's ear.

"Oh, fuck," Chris said, and hit his head against the wall again. "JC--"

Lance paused with his teeth pressing not very gently into Chris's earlobe. He made an extremely curious and not very pleased sound and waited.

"--was right," Chris said fast, "JC was right. About the licking. He said -- and -- God, Lance, do that some more--"

So Lance only bit him a little bit, as a warning. Then harder, because Chris shuddered and begged for it, and Lance only had time to think 'oh, an ear thing,' before he was on the floor under Chris, under Chris's mouth. Chris's tongue ran wet and smooth over Lance's nipple and then came back to suck, soft and rhythmic, officially further than Lance had ever gone with anyone and he was harder than he'd ever been with anyone and, oh, yeah. Yes. He could feel it everywhere, in his fingertips and the soles of his feet and his cock, so that he had to press up and Chris was right there for him, right there against him, as hard as he was.

"Chris," he said, and his hands went down Chris's back, over the seam of Chris's jeans to press him in close. He didn't know what else to do, what Chris would let him do, but moving felt good and twisting up and pushing between Chris's legs felt good, and "Chris, you. Please--"

"Yeah, okay, yeah." Chris took Lance's face in his hands and smiled. "You'll like this." He licked at Lance's lips, and made a low, sweet sound in the back of his throat when Lance licked back, sucked at his tongue. He pushed his hips down and rubbed nastily over Lance's cock and moved to bite softly at his throat.

Lance whined in a register he wasn't supposed to be able to reach.

"Shhh, wait for it," Chris murmured, and shifted his hands, taking Lance's sweats down off his hips, down his legs, and it was cold in the room but Chris covered him like a blanket, licked at his chest, his stomach, and then

"Fuck, Chris, you--"

and then Chris was laughing, his mouth wrapped around him wet and tight and still laughing and this was why it couldn't be a stranger, couldn't be anybody but Chris. He put his hands in Chris's hair and tugged and pushed and Chris went down harder, so sweet, and licked a long, wet stripe from the base of Lance's cock to the head and pulled off just enough to say, "Told you so" before swallowing Lance whole. Lance shoved himself up hard without thinking and Chris moaned around him and sucked and Lance pushed in again, again and held Chris like he was the only thing real in the world and Chris let him and held him the same way.

Chris.

"Oh," Lance said softly, and came apart.

~ ~ ~

"Lance."

"mmmm." He smiled softly, pulling Chris tighter against his chest. "Chris."

"No. I mean, yes, but." Chris shuddered, and pushed hard against Lance's hip. "A little help here."

"I don't know," Lance said kindly, without opening his eyes. "You've been sick. That much exertion--"

Chris flipped them over and yanked Lance on top of him. "You," he said, and pushed up. Lance felt it like a lazy buzz, sweet and electric. "You're really," and he stopped because Lance was kissing him into quiet and thrusting his hips down, slow and steady. Chris said something into his mouth but Lance didn't care what, and then Chris had both legs wrapped around him, and the rhythm was gone but the heat was still there. Lance had to close his eyes because the look on Chris's face was tight and hot and made him want to do everything he'd ever even heard of to Chris, right then. And it felt so good. He held Chris close and pressed his face into Chris's neck. He shook when Chris shook, held him and couldn't think and didn't really want to.

"Amazing," Chris said breathlessly, "really, you're so fucking amazing." He went still, then bit hard at Lance's shoulder and came and Lance really hoped he'd looked like that when he came but probably he hadn't, because Chris was Chris, irritating and sexy and right now, actually kind of beautiful.

"Wow," Lance said. His face was red; he could feel it. He slid off Chris, and flopped over onto his back. The carpet was scratchy under his bare skin, and he was suddenly cold, so he pulled Chris half-way over him and...hugged him. A little. "That was."

"Wow," Chris said back. Lance could feel him blinking, a hot tickle of eyelashes against his chest. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

Lance stopped stroking Chris's back and then didn't know what to do with his hand. "Okay." He tried to sit up but only made it to his elbows; Chris was heavier than he looked, solid. "I'll just, um. I can switch back with JC."

"Shut up," Chris said, and kissed him on the shoulder and pushed him back down. "I meant, I wasn't supposed to, you know. Want to do it again. Right now."

"You -- wait."

"You're supposed to be out of my system now, is what I meant." Chris didn't look at him and where his face pressed into Lance's chest it was warm, where his breath poured out over his skin it was shaky.

"I didn't know I was -- I'm in your system?" Lance stroked his thumb over Chris's cheekbone, made him look up. Pulled him up, and kissed him on the mouth. He sank his tongue between Chris's lips and wanted to stay there, letting Chris suck at him softly, but he also wanted to know. "Really?"

"Like a disease," Chris said, nodding sadly. "Like Ebola."

"Okay, ick."

"Without the bleeding out part." He looked Lance in the eye and didn't smile at all when he said, "Really."

"Maybe," Lance said slowly. "Maybe...if we tried it on the bed...you could be cured."

"You're so good to me," Chris said. He looked across the room speculatively. "That bed? Over there?"

"Well." Lance blushed and grinned at the same time. "Maybe, right? And if that one doesn't work, maybe a different one. Maybe in the next hotel, or, you know. The one after."

"Maybe." Chris started to smile. He slid off to one side, stood up and grabbed Lance's hand and tugged. "Won't know till we try."

~

.end


End file.
